


Through the Years

by Clockwork_Mockingbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adoption, Baby Fic, Baby!Fic, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, and also tiredness, because parenting ain't a walk in the park, family fic, just a lot of fluff, married fic, not mpreg, so very domestic, the horror, they adopt a baby, victor becomes an accountant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork_Mockingbird/pseuds/Clockwork_Mockingbird
Summary: "Your daughter dragged more mud into the house.""Do you hear that, Amira? Daddy's trying to blame everything on you! How refreshing. He usually just blames me!"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yo I know this is no good and has absolutely zero plot other than "the author is hungry for a family fic" so just enjoy if you can

Victor broaches the subject like he does anything: by dive bombing right into it. Yuuri's barely swallowed a mouthful of coffee before his husband decides to tilt the whole world.

"Let's adopt a baby."

It's eight am on a Sunday, the sun is shining merrily, and Yuuri has not had nearly enough coffee to deal with earth shattering requests.

He takes another long swallow and prays it slaps his brain awake because he's really going to need to be firing on all cylinders for this particular conversation.

Yuuri can't say he hasn't thought about it, because he has. But mostly it's just been passing thoughts, idle wonders before he fell asleep. They've been married for five years now, and not once have they brought up the subject of children, and that was fine. It's totally fine.

Except now Yuuri wants a kid with Victor like he'd wanted that last Grand Prix gold.

And maybe he's not fully awake yet, or he still totally falls for Victor's charms and puppy dog looks, or maybe it's because they lost Makkachin just last month (peacefully in his sleep, old and comfy and warm and god they miss him) and the new house feels far too big around them, but Yuuri is completely on board with the idea before he even sets his cup down.

"A baby, huh?" Yuuri manages.

Victor smiles.

"I've been thinking about it for a while, and now seemed like a good time to talk about it."

His hand slides to Yuuri's and tangles their fingers together.

"Think about it?" he asks, chin resting in his open palm.

Yuuri doesn't even have to consider it.

"Okay."

 

* * *

 

It's not a simple process. There are applications to fill out, forms to send off, verifications to request and copy and mail out. Then there are home visits (and frantic cleaning sprees until everything is just a bit too bright and the social worker nearly goes blind in their kitchen), and books to buy and read. Yuuko gushes about parenthood in one breath and scolds her girls in the next and Yuuri and Victor can't wait to hold their child and do the same.

Eventually, finally, they get the okay. And they get on the train and ride it to the airport, then fly themselves all the way to America to meet with the adoption agency.

"This is nuts," Yuuri whispers into Victor's shoulder. He's always hated take offs and landings. His hand is tightly wrapped around Victor's and he's smiling. "We're going to be parents."

Victor nearly bounces in his seat and the guy in front of them turns to glare. "I'll be a papa!"

The plane shudders, beginning its descent, and Yuuri squeaks and hides further in Victor's jacket. He's given an absent pat, then all but yanked out of the plane when it finally stops.

 

* * *

 

The moment

the very _moment_ she is placed in Yuuri's arms, they know she is theirs.

This tiny, warm, beautiful, baby has flown a long way- from India, to Canada, and now to America- to be placed exactly right here at exactly this time. She's so, so tiny, and she looks up at Yuuri with eyes that are just turning the most wonderful shade of brown and scrunches up her face and just wails.

Victor nearly yelps, physically jumping in the chair beside Yuuri's, and immediately panics.

"She hates us already!"

And Yuuri surprises him again.

After five years of marriage this man can still surprise him, still make him gape and stare. He'll probably never stop being surprised by Yuuri, not until the day he dies.

Yuuri gathers her closer and rocks her, gentle movements.

He shifts her to lay right on his heartbeat and kisses her forehead.

And when he looks up, he's crying, just the smallest bit.

"Hi," he says, nuzzling her with his cheek. "I'm your Dad."

She waves a small hand, so _tiny_ , and catches Victor's finger in her first. Determined, she stares right at Victor like an owl. Unblinking. Those eyes stare right into his.

She drools onto the blanket and jabbers, one fist wrapped around his finger, the other clenching in Yuuri's shirt.

"Papa's here," he says, leaning over to kiss his daughter for the first time. "Papa's right here."

And she smiles.

 

* * *

 

Amira Nikiforov is many things. Beautiful. Playful. Joyful. The apple of her fathers' eyes. The spoiled only grandchild of the Katsuki's. Doted on way too much by Aunt Mari. Mischievous.

And, apparently, nocturnal.

It's two am, the house has been quiet for exactly one hour and seventeen minutes, Yuuri and Victor have been asleep for one hour and fifteen minutes, and one hour and fourteen minutes respectively (Victor only managed the extra minute because Yuuri had to walk from the nursery back to their room).

And now she was crying again.

Yuuri promptly bursts into tears into his pillow.

"I'm a horrible dad!" he cries. "She hates me- I can't do it right- stupid-"

Victor doesn't have the energy to reassure his husband. He doesn't really have it in him to get out of bed, but he does. He blearily makes it to the nursery and all but collapses onto the crib. Rubbing his eyes until the world is sort of in focus, he blinks down at his daughter.

"Why do you do this to your poor Dad, hm?"

Amira, just barely seven months old, only wails louder.

"Shh now, my little star." If he picks her up he's not sure he won't just collapse with her in his arms. "It's alright. Papa's here. He needs his beauty sleep, but he's here." He lays his head on the railing and reaches in to brush black hair from her eyes. He's so damn tired and he doesn't know what to do.

"You are so loved, little star. But right now we are very annoyed. And scared." Victor swallows. "Mostly scared," he admits. Amira screams this time, and on a tired sigh, Victor swoops her up. "We're still new at this, and we're not doing so good, are we?"

She can't be hungry. She _just_ ate. But her diaper is clean and dry, and she's not sweating or cold. Is she teething? Victor runs a knuckle over her gums. Nothing yet. Babies are _hard_ and he's too tired to work out the mysteries of the universe. Yuuri's probably melting down. He'd been alone with Amira all day. Apparently tonight- the crying, the screaming, the patchy sleep- is just a continuation of this morning.

"So fussy."

Victor collapses backwards into the rocking chair and wishes he knew what to do. He'd trade every one of his medals, right down to the bronze he won at twelve, for just a moment of understanding. He doesn't know want she wants, or needs. A clueless father holds his wailing daughter and soothes her as best he can.

Back and forth, and back and forth they rock. Victor closes his eyes. Amira doesn't like that and wails and wails and _wails_.

Yuuri is in the doorway with a bottle. His eyes are red and swollen.

Victor's are the same.

"Look here. Here's Daddy now."

Amira latches onto the bottle and falls silent. Victor's head falls back.

"No wonder my mother hated me for the first five years," he mutters to the ceiling. Beside him, Yuuri snorts.

"I can't imagine having two young ones running around. Mari's not that much older than me." He yawns so hard small tears pop up in the corners of his eyes.

Victor stifles his own yawn. "She has to sleep _sometime_."

"Yeah, every other hour for half an hour while you're teaching classes and I'm trying to clean. Or cook."

Victor calls Yuuko at sunrise to ask for some time off and Yuuko, sympathetic and remembering two am all too well herself, gives him a week and sacrifices Takeshi so the Nikiforovs can sleep.

Amira, perversely, is perfectly well behaved for Takeshi.

"So it's just _us_ she hates," Yuuri moans from the floor, a screaming Amira on his chest. Beside him, a face down Victor yells his frustrations into the carpet.

 

* * *

 

Mari comes by to drop off food, which is a pain because the inn is so busy right now, but she's glad she did. And doubly glad she has her phone in her hand when she walks in the door.

Otherwise this picture wouldn't have been taken, and her brothers never would have known how well they're doing.

Yuuri's passed out on Victor's chest, glasses askew, drooling just a bit. Victor's got one arm around Yuuri, his black shirt stained with something unidentifiable, head tilted back, mouth open, and snoring a little. And Amira is on them both- in Yuuri's arms with her feet on Victor and she's snuggled up and content and drooling just like her dad.

What a family they are. Her Japanese brother with his still-new Russian last name, and his even newer daughter.

She sets the food on the table with a note, and takes a few minutes to straighten up what she can. When Amira stirs, she untangles her from her fathers and entertains her with a cartoon on mute until Victor wakes in a panic.

"Right here," Mari says, Amira glued to her lap. "You guys look like you needed the nap."

Behind her, Yuuri groans and flops further into Victor's lap.

"You also smell like you need to bathe. I'm due back in twenty minutes, so I'd make them fast ones."

Victor takes a cautious sniff under his arm. "Ugh."

Yuuri remains face down on his leg. "My sister is the greatest. Why didn't you marry her instead?"

He almost has enough energy to laugh. Manages to get Yuuri upright and carefully gets to his feet. Yuuri all but climbs up him to stand himself. His glasses are still crooked. His eyes are half-lidded. His hair is in so many different directions, like Victor had just run his hands through it. Or pulled it. Or used it to yank him down.

Oh, what they could do in twenty minutes...

But they smell _really_ bad, and have quick baths instead.

 

* * *

 

"This was your idea."

"You didn't fight me on it."

"I hate everything."

"You're just tired."

"It's your turn. I'm going back to sleep."

"What- no! She always cries longer when you're not there too- she needs her Daddy, Yuuri please!"

 

* * *

 

Sometime around month nine of Amira's young life, Yuuri manages to make breakfast that's not an untoasted bagel. Victor bounces their daughter on his knee, grinning as she laughs, and kisses his husband when the plate is set in front of him.

"See? We're getting the hang of it."

Yuuri scoffs, but kisses him again. Idly, he wonders when the last time was he remembered to brush his teeth.

"Coffee," Yuuri decides. "We need more coffee."

"It's on the list. Oh and put down more diapers! And formula."

"I went shopping last time. If I go again, you're watching Amira. Last time I took her to the store she screamed the entire time." Not only did he feel bad for dragging his daughter along on what was apparently the most terrifying experience of her life, but the rest of the parents in the store gave him dirty looks while their _well-behaved babies_ sat quietly in their car seats.

Victor blows a raspberry on Amira's cheek. She giggles wildly and pats Victor's face, poking him in the eye.

"I think I can handle that. Can't Papa handle it? Yes he can!"

Yuuri returns an hour later to a destroyed house: crayon on the walls, something staining the floor, a smell that had _not_ been there when he left, a tipped over and now dead houseplant, and Victor in the middle of it all. Sliver hair stands straight up, bags have grown under his tired, dead eyes. He hands Yuuri a peaceful Amira and promptly curls up right there on the floor and begs Yuuri to never leave them again.

 

* * *

 

Out of habit, they wake at two am.

To a silent house.

"You go check on her."

"Me? Why me?"

"You're the quiet one!"

"What if she's awake and just waiting to see if we come in and then she starts screaming?"

"You'll already be in the nursery so what'll it matter?"

"We'll both go."

"...what if something's wrong?"

They scramble out of bed, Victor's feet catching in the sheets and tripping him, nearly sending him face first into the wall. He gets to the nursery right behind Yuuri.

Amira is sleeping quietly, peacefully.

They sink to the floor in relief.

Yuuri squints at the blurry fibers of the carpet. "When was the last time we vacuumed in here?" He attempts to stand. "I should clean while I'm up-"

Victor's hand shoots out, grabs him, and yanks him back down. "No, no, no. You're sleeping now. You do too much around the house while I'm teaching at Ice Castle. It's time for sleep." To settle the matter, he curls around Yuuri, wrapping both arms tightly around him.

"We're sleeping on the floor?" Yuuri already sounds like he's dozing back off.

"Mm," is the only response he gets from Victor before they both pass out right there.

 

* * *

 

"She's awake."

"I believe it's your turn to make breakfast."

"Do you hear that, Amira? Daddy's trying to kill us!"

 

* * *

 

They make it to the store without Amira crying once and nearly weep with relief themselves. Victor attempts to take her to the beach a few days later, however, and Amira has none of it. She cries the entire time, and even at one point tries to wiggle away from Victor on the way home.

She hates Victor. He doesn't know why, but she does. Yuuri's always the one who can get her to stop crying faster. Yuuri's the one she smiles at. Victor can hold her on his knee, but if she can't see Dad, oh boy.

He's a terrible, horrible Papa. The worst.

Victor's latched onto Yuuri like a koala, face buried in his shoulder. The couch squeaks a bit when he shifts his knees, but Yuuri- even though he's got to be smooshed between the cushions and the husband- only pats Victor on the back and says nothing.

"I don't know what I'm _doing_. I'm not fit to be a Papa. She doesn't like me, Yuuri. She only ever wants you." He sniffs and uses a stray baby wipe to blow his nose. "Not that I blame her for that, but I'm her father too."

"Of course you are," Yuuri assures him. This is so backwards. Usually Yuuri's the one freaking out and Victor handles it. "She loves you. Babies just cry and sometimes we don't know why. Mom said Mari couldn't stand her for five months- only wanted Dad. Then suddenly she wouldn't let Mom out of her sight for a year."

He kisses Victor and brushes the tears away. "You're not a bad father. I promise. She's so lucky to have you as a Papa."

Victor sighs and nuzzles closer. Yuuri's heart speeds up.

A wicked idea forms and before he can even wonder about it, Victor's got Yuuri pinned to the sofa, both shirts tossed onto the floor, mouths and hands busy and frantic. It's been so long since they've had the time, the energy, to be together.

Even now their movements are desperate, and it's over far too quickly, but it's just what they need.

"I missed you," Victor coos, kissing Yuuri's neck.

"Me too," Yuuri whispers, tilting to kiss him deeply. "God I missed you."

"Parents are the ones who deserve medals. What is figure skating compared to parenting?"

A soft warble drifts from the nursery. Victor glances down the hall.

"Uh-oh," he laughs. "Our daughter is sensing we're having time together. She'll be awake in a minute or two."

They clean off and right their clothes in record time, and Victor gets there first, tossing Amira into the air, laughing when she does.

Maybe he's not the greatest Papa in the world, but he's trying. He'll always be there for Amira no matter what, and that's what counts. It's exhausting, dirty, _joyful_ work he and Yuuri do. And it's worth every single minute of heartache just to hear that laugh, to see that grin. Amira and Yuuri make everything worth it, and Victor loves them both so much it hurts.

"Papa."

Everything stills.

Amira grins, chubby cheeks flashing, that dimple at the left of her mouth moving, and she reaches for him, clasping her fists in a desperate attempt to grab him.

"Papa!" she giggles.

Yuuri catches the moment on video, and shows it to anyone who'll sit still long enough (Minako's seen it eight times and still cries each time).

It somehow makes it online and the skating community celebrates Victor hearing his daughter's first word. They pay no mind to the former world-record holder outright sobbing into his husband's shoulder while their daughter jabbers and giggles and pulls on Victor's hair.

"Papa, Papa, Papa!"

"Smile for the camera, Amira! Uncle Phichit's going to want to see this."

 

* * *

 

"Papa!"

"Your daughter dragged more mud into the house."

"Do you hear that, Amira? Daddy's trying to blame everything on you! How refreshing. He usually just blames me!"

 

* * *

 

Somehow, and none of them are sure how, Uncle Yurio becomes Amira's favorite person in the world. His visits are few and far between thanks to a busy skating career (he is _this close_ to breaking that record Yuuri set at the Grand Prix), but Amira is _all about_ Yurio when he's at the house.

"Up!" she demands, standing on tiptoe to grab Yurio's hand.

"Oy, your offspring is being weird again!"

But he picks her up anyway, settles her on his hip. She's gotten bigger since the last time he saw her. Are kids supposed to grow this fast? There's no way.

"You could always take her home with you," floats the tired response from the kitchen. Yuuri, folding laundry, yawns around a laugh.

"She does like you best," he says, putting a pink onesie on top of the pile. "We have no idea why."

Yurio wants to feel some kind of pride in that- Amira likes Uncle Yurio much better than her fathers! But he only feels smug and vaguely terrified. If he spent more than a few hours a day with her he knows he'd go totally crazy.

And probably lose Amira somehow.

Or panic.

Yeah, he'd panic.

Amira lunges forward suddenly, and Yurio has to step forward to compensate for the balance or drop her.

"Daddy," she demands, grabbing for Yuuri.

"You can't just jump forward like that!" Yurio scolds, gripping her tighter. "You almost gave me a heart attack!" She doesn't seem to care and yanks on Yurio's ponytail instead.

Unaffected, Yuuri folds the last of the laundry. "She does that," he says with the wisdom of many months of parenting behind him. He beams at his daughter and opens his arms for her.

Delighted, Amira abandons Yurio, and his hair, for her daddy, and promptly steals his glasses to gnaw on them.

Yurio, offended for some reason, turns on Victor in the kitchen. "You can't just let her jump out of people's arms like that! She'll get hurt!" Automatically, he accepts the handful of silverware Victor hands him and begins to sort it (Amira hasn't quite grasped chopsticks yet and most of it is baby spoons anyway).

"Please, she's Yuuri's daughter," Victor scoffs. "She'll get right back up and demand to try it again."

 

* * *

 

"You can't eat nothing but chocolate for dinner! You'll get a stomach ache and I'll have to spend all night listening to you whine."

"Amira! Daddy won't let me eat the chocolate! Here, help me finish it."

"No, no, she can't have this right before bed time- Victor you bring my daughter back here- fine! You get to put her to bed!"

 

* * *

 

"I'm going to be an accountant," Victor announces.

Yuuri looks down at Amira. "Papa's lost his mind."

Amira keeps coloring, used to her parent's antics by now. Yuuri finishes tugging her ink-black hair into a ponytail and starts braiding it.

"I'm serious, Yuuri. I have a maths degree. I might as well use it."

Yuuri ties off the braid and gives it a tug. Amira grunts and reaches for her purple crayon. Is she already low on those? They just got her this pack of crayons last week (and most of their baseboards are now covered in flowers and stars- most of them framed instead of covered up because they're just so damn cute).

He finally looks up at Victor, shifting to sit cross legged with Amira in the middle.

"If that's what you want... but what about your skating classes at Ice Castle?" Victor loves teaching skating. It's almost fair to say he loves teaching four year olds more than he loved skating himself. It doesn't really bring in a lot of money, but they had plenty saved up, and the house is paid for. "You're not going to stop, are you?"

Victor waves the thought away. "Of course not! But my classes have been getting smaller, and we could use the money."

A prickle of unease skitters across Yuuri's skin. What does he mean? They have about thirty five million yen sitting in their bank account, and Amira's trust fund gets bigger every month. The bills aren't too bad, and traveling to skate had been expensive but they don't do that anymore...

"Are we broke?" Yuuri gasps. "What happened, did the bank get robbed? Did we not actually pay the house off?"

Victor picks up a stray crayon and sets it back on the table. He brushes Amira's bangs out of her face. She scowls at him, brows furrowed.

"Papa, the piggy won't color right!" she insists, jabbing the paper hard. The tip of her crayon snaps off. She frowns. "Daddy, why are you sad?"

"I'm not," he assures her. His gaze slides to Victor. "Just a little worried is all." He gives her a pat. "Why don't you go play in the yard for a bit? Papa and I need to talk."

"We're not broke," Victor assures Yuuri, sliding to sit next to him. Out the window, he watches Amira turn cartwheels on the grass. "We've been living off our savings since Amira came into our lives. She's four now, and I want to give her more."

"More?"

A fond smile dances around Victor's mouth. He laughs when Amira flops right into a mud puddle. She gets right back up and jumps into it with gusto, flinging mud straight up in the air.

"She's going to be a great artist," he says, tracing Yuuri's lip with his thumb.

After all these years, that still turns Yuuri the brightest shade of red.

"Y-yeah. But we have enough for college-"

Victor shakes his head. "I don't want her to scrape by. And I don't want your parents to struggle either. Yu-topia is still chugging along, but it could be so much better. And you know it."

Yuuri swallows. He does. They're still the last hot spring hotel around, but that might not be the case much longer. Tourists have been flocking to the island during spring, and coming back in the winter because they fell in love with the hot springs. The ninja house did great business last year, and there's talk of developers building a fancy spa nearby.

But what's that got to do with their money?

"I want to help your parents expand the onsen," Victor says casually, like he's telling him their daughter is covered head to toe with mud again (she is). "We've got enough, and with that magazine spread I did last month, and the tv special we're going to be on we'll be fine, but I want Amira to be secure."

"But... an accountant?" Yuuri can't wrap his head around that. Victor's great at math, and he's never needed to use his degree- he's always said he got his master's to prove he could, and then just let it gather dust. "Of all things."

Victor laughs and kisses him. "I know, it doesn't seem like me! But I got a call the other day- a firm offered me a job. Apparently your mother told them that I do her books. It's good money, Yuuri. Great money actually, and it's not far. I'll be home for dinner every night, I'll get vacations, and we can send Amira to that nice daycare we've been thinking about so you can teach at Ice Castle if you want." He kisses Yuuri again. "Or stay home, whatever you want to do!"

He's thrilled about this, Yuuri can see it. His past wins, his medals, their marriage, Amira, it all makes him happy, but above all, Victor wants to be useful. The smaller classes haven't made him as happy as the large ones, and no matter what they do some kids just won't have the talent to continue skating. Hell, sometimes kids just don't want to skate.

They don't understand it, but it happens.

Yuuri leans forward and kisses Victor hard, wondering how the hell he would get the mud of out Amira's hair this time. "When do you start?"

 

* * *

 

"You look like a regular man wearing just a regular suit and not a Tom Ford."

"Amira! Your dad just called me boring!"

 

* * *

 

Amira's pictures take over the fridge, the walls, Victor's cube (he has a _cubical_ ), and finally Yuuri enrolls her in an art program. She loves it. She comes home nearly every day covered in paint, smelling like clay, and grinning from ear to ear. She goes after daycare three days a week, and Papa picks her up when he's off work. The other two days Yuuri takes her to the onsen to play with grandma and grandpa while he oversees the construction.

Mari calls him a kiss-ass, but she's grinning around her cigarette when she does.

(She all but squeals when plans for the mini-spa are revealed, and nearly dies when she realizes her hair license is finally going to come in handy at the family business and not just at the barber shop in town.)

They get home before Victor, make dinner, and usually are just setting the table- with Amira's newest masterpiece displayed in the center- when the door opens and Victor comes barreling in, chasing Amira all over the place and riling her up when she's supposed to go to bed in two hours.

He always stops to dip and kiss Yuuri though, and Amira groans and hides because her parents are so in love it's gross.

Yurio and Phichit manage to visit at the same time in the fall, and the house is pleasantly noisy and crowded. Amira demands to sketch Yurio with his long hair before he has it cut, and forces him to sit for an hour while she scribbles.

It actually looks like him, and she's only four, and Yurio promptly frames it to keep it safe on the trip home.

"Look at that, it's me!" he says happily, arms around his niece. "Sign it for me. All great artists sign their work, you know."

Amira practices her signature with a sharpie and Phichit's arm, and Instagram goes nuts over the pictures of _the_ Phichit grinning while a four year old draws a mustache on him.

"What do you mean an _accountant_?" Yurio demands, horrified, when Victor goes into work the next day.

Phichit laughs, still trying to scrub the sharpie from his skin, and turns to Yuuri. "What do you think he's going to do when he finds out what _we_ do for a living?"

Phichit retired just last year and owns several move theaters across Thailand, with his eye on expanding his business to other countries as well. Yuuri's mostly taken over the onsen, after a bitter fight where Mari finally convinced him she didn't want to run the place, just work in it.

"An accountant, how can you be an accountant?! It's a crime against skating! A travesty!"

Victor kisses Amira on the forehead. "Be good for your uncles today, hm?" He pats Yurio's cheek on his way out, stopping to slip into his shoes.

Yurio melts to the floor. "An accountant," he mutters. "This is terrible."

Amira sits on his stomach, a sharpie clutched in her fist. "Hold still," she orders, already coloring his nails a bright shade of blue. Yurio obeys out of shock, but blinks suddenly and looks at her.

"Your father is an accountant. He used to be the greatest skater in the world! I can't believe it."

Yuuri snickers and packs Amira's lunch. "Parenthood changes people. I'm not sure if I want you to find that out firsthand or not. On one hand, it would be nice for Amira to have more cousins. The triplets are nice and all, but they're busy with school. But on the other, that means you'd have to reproduce, soooo..."

Yurio aims a glare at him and a sniggering Phichit, but knows better than to move when Amira is coloring him.

 

* * *

 

"I don't wanna skate!"

"Yuuri, your child is being difficult."

" _My_ child? Oh no, she's all yours."

"Dad, Papa, I don't want to skate. It's not that fun."

"Where did we go wrong, Yuuri?!"

"Probably when I married you. You don't have to skate if you don't want to."

"I have never been so insulted! Amira! Your dad just insulted me!"

 

* * *

 

The years march on. Some things change, some things don't.

Amira goes to a fancy art school in America and starts selling paintings for more money than she knows what to do with. She always invites her dads and pretends to be embarrassed when they cry from joy at her newest gallery showing.

(She actually _is_ embarrassed when Uncle Yurio starts to tear up and tries to buy five paintings without looking at the price tags.)

She knows Victor used to be some bigshot figure skater, but in her mind it just doesn't click. Papa wears suits to the office, and holds meetings, and paints her nails, and burns things when he tries to cook, and kills every plant he touches. To see people recognize him and rush him is always a jarring experience.

It's nothing compared to when Yuuri's recognized though, and that's just plain weird. He does her hair and calls her every day, and always frets when she goes out on her own (come on, Dad, she's twenty four, time to let go), and he always freaks when reporters flock to him. He always, always yanks her to his side and gushes about how proud of her he is, and just flat out ignores the questions about his old ice skating career.

"It's not who we are anymore," Yuuri tells her after the show. He watches her paint, gets the kettle when it whistles, and kisses her cheek. "This is who we are now. This is what's important."

Victor's head pops up over the back of the couch. "Yes, we love you more than anything, my little star!" He squints at the both of them. "Yuuri, love, where did I leave my glasses this time?"

Amused, Yuuri pulls the glasses out from under a pile of newspapers (Victor bought every single copy of every paper that mentioned Amira's new gallery and will not stop bragging to strangers) and crosses to slide them onto his face.

Victor smiles up at him, tucking the salt and pepper hair behind Yuuri's ear. "My handsome husband," he coos, and rises up to kiss him.

After thirty years of marriage, Victor never fails to make Yuuri blush.

"Look how good she turned out. We should adopt another one."

Yuuri turns a bland look to his husband. "We are way too old to have more children."

"We are not!"

"How about we get a dog instead."

"I'm so offended, Amira! Your dad just called me _old_!"

"We _are_ old."

"Just for that I want _two_ poodles, _and_ one of those adorable bulldogs. And a cat."

Amira makes use of her earbuds, and paints a new masterpiece while her parents argue and laugh in the background.


End file.
